


Resetting the Bone

by orphan_account



Category: Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies)
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Found Family, Gen, Happy Hogan is a Good Bro, Hurt Peter Parker, Irondad, Ironfamily, Ned Leeds is a Good Bro, Not Canon Compliant, Pepper Potts Acting as Peter Parker's Parental Figure, Peter Parker Needs a Hug, Peter Parker is a Little Shit, Peter Parker is a good big brother, Precious Morgan Stark (Marvel Cinematic Universe), Precious Peter Parker, Protective Peter Parker, Protective Tony Stark, Tony Stark Acting as Peter Parker's Parental Figure, Tony Stark Has A Heart, Trigger warning: shame, irondad and his spiderson, self harm recovery, spiderson, trigger warning: self harm
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-29
Updated: 2019-12-27
Packaged: 2021-02-26 07:27:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 18,609
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21599932
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: "Morgan was being sweet, he knew that. She didn’t understand how Peter was sick. She had heard somewhere- how nobody could guess- that he was hurt on his left arm. She knew he had done it. Not a bad guy.She’d come up with the idea that he needed a Band-Aid to keep on his wrist. Pride glowing on her face, she made sure he had one every morning. Peter wore it all day for her.Morgan kept giving him Band Aids every visit. She didn’t give up. She was being sweet. She was trying to take care of him. But he really wished she would stop!"This is a story of recovery and family. Please exercise safe reading. Trigger warning: self harm.
Relationships: Happy Hogan & Peter Parker, James "Rhodey" Rhodes & Tony Stark, May Parker (Spider-Man) & Peter Parker, Ned Leeds & Peter Parker, Peter Parker & James "Rhodey" Rhodes, Peter Parker & Pepper Potts & Morgan Stark (Marvel Cinematic Universe) & Tony Stark, Peter Parker & Tony Stark, implied May Parker/Happy Hogan - Relationship, implied Peter Parker/Ned Leeds (kind of)
Comments: 26
Kudos: 304





	1. Like an Apology that Didn't Need to be Spoken

**Author's Note:**

> I am humbled and encouraged by the support you’ve given me! 4000 hits — it’s such an honor and an encouragement! Thank you so much!

Peter appeared in the doorframe like an apology that didn’t need to be spoken. His frame, swathed in Tony’s old MIT sweatshirt - the one with the cuffs so tattered it had holes for each of his fingers to get caught through - was as unassuming as he could make it. His skin was buzzing as he stepped in from the hallway and he hoped those in the kitchen couldn’t hear the broadcast of his nerves.

“Good morning, Peter.”

“Morning, kid.”

“Good morning.” Peter meekly responded to the greetings from Happy and Pepper. Each smiled in a way that Peter knew was meant to encourage his presence then they relaxed back into their tasks.

They had been great about giving him space, excusing his absence from family time, and not putting, really, any pressure on him to do anything when he’d stayed over. And, their greetings were always natural, normal, just like they’d been for years. He felt guilty, forcing them to watch over him like a child.

Morgan sped over to him breathlessly. She’d very obviously been waiting for him to appear, as she had been every morning he’d stayed with them the past two months. In her hand she had a little Band-Aid, just like she’d given him every morning. “I picked out a Hello Kitty one because I thought you’d like it.”

“Thanks, Mo.” Peter said. He glanced at Pepper who was clipping shut a plastic lunch box. He noticed her small smile thin slightly. Happy looked up from the road route he was studying on his phone. Peter swallowed. “I love it.”

“Can I put it on this time?”

An icy feeling ran down into his stomach. Morgan was being sweet, he knew that. She didn’t understand how Peter was sick. She had heard somewhere- how nobody could guess- that he was hurt on his left arm. She knew he had done it. Not a bad guy.

It was a nightmare.

She’d come up with the idea that he needed a Band-Aid to keep on his wrist. Pride glowing on her face, she made sure he had one every morning. Peter wore it all day for her. The only time he hadn’t is when she handed him one with Spider-Man on it. That was trashed as soon as he could slink back to his room. If he wasn’t wearing the suit, not helping anybody, he figured he shouldn’t pretend he was still a hero.

Morgan kept giving him Band Aids every visit. She didn’t give up. She was being sweet. She was trying to take care of him. But he really wished she would stop!

“I—“ Peter didn’t want to say no again. But, how could he let her see?

He had new ones.

“Hey, Squirt,” Happy said. He was trying to give Peter an out. “Do I get to pick the music for the drive this time?”

Morgan didn’t even break her gaze with Peter. “No.” She said simply.

Peter said quietly, “Thanks, Mo, but I’ll put it on myself.” He shifted away from her falling face.

“Good call, Maguna,” Tony said, striding into the kitchen, “Happy can't be trusted with the radio.” Tony hoisted up his little girl and won a smile from her. “Too many buttons anyway.”

Relief eased through Peter’s chest as Tony and Happy began a familiar back and forth. Morgan’s giggles were sprinkled throughout. Tony had saved him again. Peter retreated to the countertop, away from the island where the others stood together.

“I’m picking the music for the drive.” Tony teased. He paused to send Peter a warm gaze from across the kitchen.

Peter gave him a smile back. Just like in the days when he was a teenager, he felt an urge to tell Tony… To tell Tony about the new cuts on his wrist — about his frustration that they were fading so fast, erased by the tide of his enhanced healing, when he wanted them to be something more —about the worry he felt about his special day planned with Morgan and how he didn’t want to go… But the guilt of withdrawing from her was too strong. Like always, the guilt decided. He would go.

Peter knew he couldn’t talk to him.

“No, Daddy!” Morgan laughed. “Pete gets to pick.” She looked over at him with an expression like she was giving him a present. Then she turned back to Tony. “Besides, you’re not going. Just me and Pete.”

“Ouch.” Tony laid a hand over his chest. He set Morgan down as he joked. “You may not remember, but you like having me around sometimes.”

Happy grumbled. “I don’t even get a mention. I’m going, too.”

Peter turned shyly away from the family. He pushed the left sleeve of the sweatshirt away from his wrist and stuck on the Hello Kitty Band-Aid, one side at a time. Yesterday’s Band-Aid was already removed. He did that as soon as he was closed off in his room every night. Yesterday’s had been a yellow one with a tiny rainbow on the center. It was crumpled in the wastebasket by his bed. Once the Hello Kitty one was affixed, he replaced the tattered sleeve.

Peter turned back. Pepper was watching him. She smiled gently. Then she gave him back his space.

Last night she had talked with him about today. They had worked together to plan a laid back outing for Morgan and Peter, something she would enjoy and would be easy on him. Pepper suggested the lemon grove nearby.

Morgan had become enamored by the idea of a lemonade stand. As much as Tony had spurned “capitalism for seven-year-olds”, Pepper thought the grove would be a quiet but open place where Peter could slip away if he needed. Peter thought about sunlight and the calm and nodded his approval.

“You can walk together and pick some lemons.” Pepper had said. “Happy can drive and take care of Morgan. After lunch, you can come back here and make the lemonade with me in the kitchen. You can take a break whenever you want. I can keep Morgan entertained.” She winked.

“I’m really sorry,” Peter said but Pepper shook her head. The way she looked at him was soft.

She wasn’t like May and never had been. Yet, in moments and certain movements - especially around their eyes, Peter could catch something. It must be specific to the way mothers look at their children. Peter blushed when he realized what he had thought. Even after so many adults had stepped in to love him like their own, May and Ben not the least, he was still so humbled and overjoyed to be treated as a son.

“I’m sure she’ll want to set up a stand in the yard.” Pepper chuckled, “Even though our closest neighbor is seven acres away.”

Peter smiled and looked down.

“The rest of the day we can spend in the yard. Tony and I will be around to take some of her attention. You can have some quiet before it’s time for your bus.” Pepper paused and her brow creased. “Don’t feel like you have to do this.”

“I really love being with her.” Peter assured her. “And I want Mo to have good memories with me. I’ve been…” ignoring her, he finished in his mind.

“You’re allowed to not be okay, Peter.”

He wondered, How long am I allowed to not be okay, though? But he didn’t say anything. They wordlessly cemented the plans and Pepper let him know that she would take care of everything. Then Tony came downstairs from putting Morgan to bed and asked if Peter wanted to take a walk down to the lake with him. Peter said he was tired; he went to his bedroom and removed the yellow Band Aid with the tiny rainbow.

In the kitchen, Tony said to Morgan, “Are you going to the lemon grove in a Buzz Lightyear gown?”

“Hmm.” Morgan smirked as if seriously considering it.

“How about you go get ready?” Tony said, sending her off. Morgan padded away at top speed. When she had left, he walked over to Peter.

Tony smiled at him and patted his shoulder. Then he reached for a mug from the cabinet and remarked playfully, “Who said you could wear my shirt?”

Peter smiled. “You did.”

“Oh yeah,” Tony said, with no conviction, as he retrieved the coffee pot from the maker. Peter rolled his eyes. Tony became more of a dad by the day. “Whoever made coffee, bless your sainted soul!”

“That,” said Pepper, “was Saint Harold.” She gestured to Happy.

“Of Audi,” Peter added, “Champion of Babysitters and Expired Firewalls.”

There was good-natured chuckling. It felt good. Peter felt something pull at the back of his mind. His smile was weighed down as a vague panic moved through his stomach. He wanted to cut. But why?

“The bugs won’t be bad during the morning, right?” Peter heard Tony ask. “There’s bug spray in trunk, I think.”

“I think they’ll be fine.” Pepper said. She stood and placed the three packed lunches in a backpack.

“But there’s sunscreen?” Tony asked. “I’m going to put some on Morgan before you go. Thirty minutes before sun exposure, you know. You need some, too, Pete.” He tapped Peter’s chest as he walked past.

Happy took the backpack from Pepper. “This ready?” He left to pack it in the car after she had nodded.

Peter shifted. “I guess I’ll get ready.”

Pepper looked at him in surprise. “You haven’t eaten.” She indicated the pot of oatmeal kept warm on the stovetop.

Peter backed away. “I had some protein bars in my room. The special kind that Tony made for my metabolism. I’m good.”

“Ok.” She said.

Peter left the kitchen and went upstairs to his bedroom.


	2. With Hums and a Sound like a Heartbeat

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Peter didn’t understand what he saw, but he knew two things: that May was sad and he wasn’t supposed to see this."

When Ben was murdered, May was quiet for a while, but she was great. She never forgot any of Peter’s appointments or school events, she took a demotion at the company she loved so she had more time for him, she was never distracted, she took on all the housework that Ben had done, and she made sure dinner was never late and never frozen food. Peter was too young to understand how much she was trying, how much she was fighting, and how much she was working. It’s not that he didn’t love her for being everything she was, but to him she seemed okay… strong but sad. Reliable, but quiet.

And May never talked badly about the kids who had shot Ben. He’d seen their faces in the newspaper: a girl ten years older than he was, who seemed to be snarling and crying at the same time, her nose and lips twisted up, and, two boys around the same age, both big, with pale lips and dark rings around their eyes. May didn’t read the paper that talked about them, even though a friend had brought it over for her. She’d only said thank you and put it the mail rack in the kitchen. Peter didn’t ever see it again.

May didn’t talk much about it at all. She only said, “Come here, baby” whenever she heard him whimper. Then he cast himself as tightly as he could to her and she rocked him. Sitting together on the couch, he would breathe her in and feel so strong. It was grounding. She was like a tether. 

“Come here, baby.”

And he would gush with incoherent words — all worries and pain and guilt and anger and fear and sorrow —for himself and for her. He would babble for what felt like hours and she comforted him, but hardly ever with words. With hums, he remembered, and a sound she made with her breath like a beating heart. But he didn’t remember her talking.

One night he woke up in his bed with an empty feeling. He was drugged by sleep but couldn’t stave off the sensation of loss, almost like the feeling of nausea. He tripped out from his covers and navigated through the still apartment. He wanted to breathe in May’s calm security — like a medicine — and fall back asleep. He’d often climbed in bed with Ben and May when he was younger.

He stumbled to the door and found it closed. That was unusual but he ignored the fact. He turned the knob quietly but stopped when he saw May through the crack.

Only the little desk lamp was on, but he could see her well enough. Her back was almost entirely turned to him. Her arms were crossed and clutching each other— tightly enough to drain the blood from her knuckles. Her body was thrown forward as if she were vomiting and she was shaking.

Peter would have run to her but he heard her whispering Ben’s name.

May rocked upward and Peter saw her face; it had been wrecked by tears. She was grimacing, her skin pulled back to her ears, her teeth quivering in painful but silent sobs. Peter was scared. He understood that she was hiding.

After a couple gasps, May unclamped her hands and took something sharp from the duvet. In battle with herself, her movements were disjointed but passionate. She raised her shirt to expose a small area of her belly. The blade drew little lines on her soft skin. He heard her breathing slow. Heard her swallow.

Peter didn’t understand what he saw, but he knew two things: that May was sad and he wasn’t supposed to see this.

He went back to his own bed, lost in heat and deafness.

May didn’t change the next day. She wasn’t different. Peter almost convinced himself that he had imagined what he saw. After the first Chanukah without Ben, May began counseling. After the first summer vacation without Ben, May was talking more about him with Peter— sharing memories. By the first Thanksgiving without Ben, May allowed herself to cry in front of Peter. He would hug her and she would say, “Don’t worry— I’m sad but I’m okay. I’m going to take care of us, sweetie. So don’t worry about me.”

Peter would nod and he believed her. She was becoming strong and happy instead of strong and sad. After the second Chanukah without Ben, May seemed to be released if not untroubled. She was free and open and real and still his tether. Peter didn’t think about the night he saw her cut herself in hiding again for years.


	3. Splintered and Unable to Hold

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Tony wanted him to be healthy, part of his family, part of his peaceful new life, and Peter wasn’t ready to give up these suddenly important, life-quaking emotions. They were his and he was greedy with them. At the expense, he knew, of others. I just keep hurting everyone, Peter thought. I don’t deserve the life I had. Peter couldn’t look at him. His eyes found the floor."

Peter walked up the stairs in the lake house, looking at the framed pictures along the landing. It was his tradition to look at these photos every time he climbed the stairs. He’d done this ever since his first time in the lake house. It began as curiosity, a means to learn about the time he had missed after Titan. Then, it became a comfort and way to ground himself. It was especially important for him in the summer before college to stand and soak in each image. Now, it was habit.

Tony never got tired of hanging more frames or updating the photos inside. Peter thought about how Tony loved his family and his heart surged. He jealously guarded the members of that family — Pepper, Morgan, Rhodey, Happy… and Peter. Tony was at peace and able to be with those he loved without hardship. Finally. 

Peter wanted to protect his happiness. Not ruin it. Not abuse Tony’s generosity, as so many had.

Peter found his bedroom door open. His surging heart dropped sharply. “Morgan?” He asked on reflex, stepping in quickly. Tony was standing just inside, his hands in his pockets.

Tony gave a relaxed smile and shrugged disarmingly. “Just me, bud. I wanted to check in on how you’re doing this morning.” He motioned to the door, inviting Peter to close it so they could talk.

Peter tried to swallow as he closed the door. This was the part he dreaded most about his visits the last couple of months. The worry that May and Tony- and everyone else- were teeming with for him. He had caused such an upset since that night he’d called from the hospital.

To be fair, the ER doctors had released him; they’d determined he wasn’t in imminent danger because he didn’t want to die. He had told them the truth. He had done things the right way. The urges to self-harm were right there, pressing their weight against his forehead like a lover about to kiss him.

Going to the ER, Peter was hoping for immediate counseling or a recovery program, but that wasn’t what happened. It was like trying to warn everyone that there was a shark in the water and them choosing to wait until it bit. By the time May had made it from New York, Peter was exhausted in every sense. He didn’t want to talk anymore; the breaker in his brain had been thrown.

May had put her hands on his cheeks and forehead several times, searchingly, as if his face might tell her exactly where the fault was and how she could heal it. She knew better, but maybe that was just the panicked hope of parents at the first sign their children are hurt. Tony had done the same when he surprised Peter in New York after May had packed him up and took him home for a week.

It was immature, but Peter was embarrassed when May or Tony “checked on him.”

They shouldn’t have to do this, he thought.

Tony sat down on the bed and Peter reluctantly walked to him. He heard his nerves buzzing again. He felt much younger, some residual teenage sense of inadequacy in his chest. 

Tony sat in front of him — the one he always relied on, the one who always supported him — with an expression practically asking to take care of him, to comfort him. But Peter knew what that meant. He hardened his resolve.

Tony wanted him to be healthy, part of his family, part of his peaceful new life, and Peter wasn’t ready to give up these suddenly important, life-quaking emotions. They were his and he was greedy with them. At the expense, he knew, of others. I just keep hurting everyone, Peter thought. I don’t deserve the life I had. Peter couldn’t look at him. His eyes found the floor. Bad son.

“Can I see?” Tony asked.

Peter jolted. He looked up and saw Tony’s hands outstretched, asking for his wrist. Peter shuddered then stiffened. Don’t do this, please. He wasn’t sure who he was talking to. “No,” he said breathily.

Tony relented easily but Peter clearly saw the worry on his face. “Okay.” Tony said. “You know, even with your advanced healing, you need to keep them clean so they don’t get infected.” Peter’s stomach went stone hard.

Damn it! Peter clenched his teeth, suddenly defensive. “They’re not… They’re just … superficial. Not deep.” I hate this. I hate this.

Tony‘s brow buckled. Then he took a deciding breath through his nose. “Pete.” His voice dropped, serious. “Last time—“

No, no, no, Peter said to the rising rebellion in his brain.

“— you kept going deeper—“

Peter huffed, though it wasn’t meant how it sounded. He’d just lost control of the breath he’d pent up. Tony paused. He stood and stepped toward Peter.

Peter whispered. “I’m sorry.”

Tony put his arms around Peter, pausing slightly to give Peter the chance to withdraw if he didn’t want the hug. Peter didn’t resist. Tony was warm. Helplessly, Peter leaned into him.

Shame flared behind Peter’s eyes. He wished he would cry and get it over with. How much easier would that be? 

Peter used to cry all the time. If he was too tired, he’d cry. If he was hungry, occasionally, he’d cry. If Tony praised him, he’d cry. If he was stressed by school deadlines, workload, if he lost a competition in front of other people, if there was even a ghost of disappointment on May’s face, he’d melt into tears. 

As much as he used to hate that about himself, Peter wished he could just sob it out and this could be over. But, he didn’t cry now, had not for a while... He was so locked down, it was useless to try.

“You don’t have to show me or tell me anything, Pete. I’m not trying to…” Tony sighed. He treaded this conversation softly. No doubt he remembered how easily Peter could bolt. “I see the work you’re doing and I’m proud of you. I’m so proud, Pete!”

I think I cut to get high. Just say it. I think I’m making all this up.

Peter hated it, but wasn’t that the truth? During the week he spent in New York with May and Tony they had developed a relapse plan. In addition to seeing a counselor immediately and using the strategies he’d learned when he was fifteen, he would drop 4 credits to ease the stress of college. He would quit his position on the university student newspaper. And, he wasn’t even patrolling as Spider-Man. He had nothing to be stressed about. So what was the problem?

Nothing is really wrong with me. I do this because I want to. Please. Don’t feel sorry for me.

Tony spoke, interrupting his inner battle. “I just want you to know that I’m here. I’m with you.”

This is something I’m doing to myself, doing to you— doing on purpose. Peter continued. And I’m not going to stop. I’m not going to stop. Please—

Tell him.

I can’t.

“I know,” Peter finally said.

Tony pulled away. He looked at Peter and Peter felt genuinely sorry for him. “Are you using your timer between urges and following through?”

Peter nodded. “Mostly.” Anger flared up despite everything. Tony just couldn’t help mothering him, could he?

“How long do you set?”

“Five minutes.”

Tony nodded, thinking. “Will you try 10 minutes?”

Peter dutifully agreed. When Tony was quiet, Peter raised his eyes. He saw Tony’s jaw tighten and Peter wondered what was going through his mind.

“Pete,” Tony said carefully. “I’m scared that—“ He stopped. His thumb raked his forehead as he sighed.

“I’m okay.” Peter tried. “I’m doing so much better, really. Better even than a couple weeks ago.”

“I know.” Tony smiled. “You’ve been working hard.”

No I haven’t.

“Are you talking to May?”

“Yes.” Peter lied. Of course he was talking to May. She texted him nonstop and called most nights. But, he knew what Tony was asking: was he calling May to talk when he was feeling the urge to harm? No.

May had started her own publishing group and it was gaining traction. Peter remembered being six and May bringing home finished magazines to show him and Ben. “My layout was chosen!” She’d trill. Now that he was away at MIT, she was pursuing her career again. She was finally free to do it.

Tony had asked because Peter didn’t take the walk with him last night. He had hidden in his room. And now he had fresh cuts. Of course Tony figured it out.

Tony didn’t believe his answer. This gave him the courage he needed. “I’m scared you’re not going to call anyone when you… need to.”

“I will.” Peter’s voice strained.

“Okay.” Tony said, taking an unconscious step back. He was trying to lessen the threat, ease the pressure on Peter’s flight reflex. He looked at Peter for a long time. “I trust you, Pete. Just… I’m always here to listen. I love you, kid.”

“Thanks.” Peter said. His leg started trembling. Tony was about to walk away and give him his space again. Peter’s defenses always chose this moment waver. So scared of losing this relationship that a moment before he had been actively choking to death.

Tony squeezed his shoulder and smiled at him. Peter could almost believe he was proud of him. There was nothing he had wanted more at one time. Here it was for him. He was looking at it, offered to him, like it was a foreign object. Then Tony turned for the door. “Why don’t you listen to some music —“

“Mr. Stark!”

Both started at that. Tony turned to him questioningly. “Y’haven’t called me that in a while, bud.”

Peter shook out an exhale. His shoulder touched his left ear. Fifteen again, anxious tics and all, he stammered. “Can — can you—“ Goading himself to push through his instinct to flee, he fought the closing of his throat. This felt like gagging yourself to throw up. He ducked to his backpack and removed a foldable camping knife. He thrust it toward Tony, not able to look at him. “—take this, please?”

“Of course.” He heard Tony answer softly. “I’ll take care of it, okay?” Then he felt Tony lift it from his hand. “Do you want to talk?”

That was it. The apathy dissolved and Peter felt his legs swept from under him. He clenched his eyes closed and shook his head. A brutal sob broke out as he felt Tony hold him again.

Damn it. It was always like this. Splintered and unable to hold himself together, he had to interrupt someone else’s life to gather him up, put him in a splint.

I can’t talk to you. Don’t you get it?

“I’m here. I’ve got you.” Tony said.

Peter couldn’t bring himself to cling to Tony like he once had. He was defying himself to even hand over the knife. Stuck between two places: complete destruction and health. Was this even a step toward recovery? Tony probably hoped so. Tony was smoothing down his quaking form, talking in lullaby tones— “I’m with you. You don’t have to do this alone.” Even so, Peter couldn’t rest, but it felt great to cry.


	4. Mommy Blue, Daddy Gold, and Peter Red

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "The breeze picked up, and though it wasn’t as present as it had been in the grove with the well-trimmed lines of lemon trees, Peter welcomed every touch. It faintly reminded him of coursing through currents of air, a living physics puzzle in his head, as he threw his entire body into surviving each swing or dive through Queens. He missed being Spider-Man in that moment."

The outing happened just like it was planned. The lemon grove was quiet and fragrant. Peter climbed into the tree and tossed down lemon after lemon for Morgan. She was in bliss. Seeing her laugh made him feel lighter. With a quick look back toward the grove’s entrance, Peter webbed two sides of a large basket sitting by the trunk of the tree he had climbed.

Morgan instantly recognized this game. She giggled and scrunched up her nose in glee. He had made her web swings everywhere— the trees at home, the porch, and her room on rainy days. “Happy, push me!” She scrambled in the basket.

Happy tossed up a fretful glower at Peter. His eyebrows seemed to demand, Are you serious? What if someone sees? But, he moved toward the basket where Morgan was asking him to hurry.

Peter’s grin answered back, You worry too much. He pulled the basket up until it was a couple feet from the ground. The strain on his left arm’s muscles caused it to burn. He felt one of the plasters pop slightly. Peter ignored it. He hitched the two web ropes to the branch.

Happy began to push the basket. Morgan smiled. “Push me so I can touch the leaves!”

“How about just a normal height?” Happy tried to reason.

Peter used this moment to breathe. He dropped from the branch, on the other side of the trunk from Morgan and Happy then sat down on his ankles. A sting to the top of his thigh reminded him that he had brought a blade; it was in his pocket. 

It was a refill razor for a multi-purpose tool. In a panic, after he handed over his knife to Tony, Peter had snuck into Tony’s workshop. He took the tool apart and pocketed the blade. He just wanted to have it with him; he wouldn’t use it, he told himself.

They ate lunch in the grass, Happy grumbling about his knees. Their heaping baskets were beside them. Happy suggested only taking one enormous basket home for lemonade but Morgan had definitely inherited Tony’s extravagance. She had a plan for a lemonade empire, apparently. The trunk on the way home was weighed down by 50 lbs of lemons.

Back at the lakehouse, Tony managed to steer the kids away from the kitchen. “You’re never going to believe what’s outside in our yard.” He hooked Morgan instantly. Peter followed as Tony led them around the side of the house. He revealed the lemonade stand he’d built. It was gorgeous and just needed a paint job. Morgan eagerly set to work. Peter assumed that Pepper was cutting the lemons while they were occupied.

“What colors are you thinking, boss?” Tony asked Morgan.

“Mommy Blue,” Morgan began to list colors by the names she’d had for them since she was younger. “Daddy Gold, and Peter Red.”

Peter smiled. He didn’t know she still called them that. Morgan had associated colors with the people in her life when she was learning them as a toddler. Somehow, years later, when Peter entered her life, she revived those names and gave him the color red. He had a place with her; she wanted him to belong.

Hearing the old name, Peter again felt dear to his little sister.

Eventually, colors had dropped the assignments she’d given them. For example, “Uncle Rhodey Purple” had become just “purple” (much to Uncle Rhodey’s disappointment, despite that he’d always encouraged silver as an alternative.) “Uncle Bruce Green” became just “green” (much to Uncle Bruce’s relief.) But blue, gold, and red still belonged to her mommy, daddy, and to him.

“Order received,” Tony said, turning toward the garage. He murmured to Peter as he left, “Gonna be a hell of a lemonade stand.”

“Where do you think she gets it?” Peter grinned.

It was truly a hell of a lemonade stand. Tony had to return to the garage after Morgan schooled him on the difference between gold and yellow. Morgan asked Peter a million questions as they painted. “Does Ned still build LEGO models? Would he come with you next time and could you help me with my Minecraft world? I got the Ocean Hideout. Daddy said if he stepped on another LEGO brick he wouldn’t build them anymore… Is Aunt May’s new magazine about architecture or technology or business or… fashion? Does she have all the same writers or new ones each time? Who draws the pictures for her magazine? In college, do you have music class? I have music class. It’s my favorite other than Math and recess.”

Peter realized this was the most uninterrupted time he had given her in two months. He worked to answer all of her questions without exasperation. He didn’t want her to give up on him.

When the first coat was done, Pepper called from the porch. It was time to start squeezing the lemons. Morgan quickly abandoned the paintbrush.

“Come on, Pete!” She said.

Honestly, Peter was ready for a break. Her energy could be tiring as well as infectious, he’d long since discovered. “I’ll finish painting the stand and be right in,” he said.

Pepper swept Morgan inside before sending him an encouraging look. She was saying he should take his time. Then they were gone.

The breeze picked up, and though it wasn’t as present as it had been in the grove with the well-trimmed lines of lemon trees, Peter welcomed every touch. It faintly reminded him of coursing through currents of air, a living physics puzzle in his head, as he threw his entire body into surviving each swing or dive through Queens. He missed being Spider-Man in that moment.

Then he remembered the faces of people who had clung to him, reached for him, relied on him. Faces in the dark, faces in the smoke of burning buildings, faces hiding behind abusers. He was ignoring them. His lungs seemed to shrink. I’m not helping anybody, he remembered. 

The faces were with him when he was fifteen. More and more walled him in every night. He didn’t want to scare May with them. Mr. Stark, although he had begun to check in more often after The Vulture, would only think less of him if he talked about all this… fear. 

At first he tried to push away the faces; the pressure of their stares was too much. He was burgeoning with it. It tested and stretched the boundaries of his skin until he had to let it escape. He sure the hell couldn’t escape it. So, he hid and let his secrets out in little punishments across his body.

Here he was with his teenage fear again. I should be able to handle this shit by now. Peter agonized. The faces found him again and he didn’t have anything for them. He tried to hide, cowering deeper into himself. He couldn’t imagine getting back to the place where he could face the responsibility again.

Out in the yard, a little farther away, Peter heard Tony humming. Peter scoffed and smiled. Tony didn’t hum. May hummed, sang — he loved catching her singing “Here Comes the Sun” which was her favorite. But, Tony didn’t hum. This was an invitation. Peter surprised himself a little when he stood and walked to him.

Tony was bent double, collecting discarded branches from the maples. He straightened when he heard Peter approach. Peter noticed the pained expression on Tony’s face and the muted cracks as his back hoisted his weight. Peter had a feeling reminiscent of seeing Tony‘s grey hair for the first time.

Tony gestured to the lemonade stand. “The stand is coming along. Makes me want to take a hundred pictures and post them on Pinterest. Get the InstaMoms talking.” He tossed the dead branches in the wheelbarrow.

“Why don’t you let me do that for you?” Peter said as if the argument had already started.

Tony snorted. “Oh-ho! Back for round two?”

Every time Peter offered to help Tony with anything around the lakehouse, Tony turned it into a competition. Peter pleaded. “Just let me do something for you. For once!”

Deaf to the plea, Tony marked off some perimeters with the finger of his right hand. “That’s your side, this side is mine.” He challenged Peter. “If you take any sticks from my side, we’re going to have words.”

“Would any of those words be: ‘Thank you for helping while I visit my chiropractor’?”

“Almost definitely not.”

They talked as they worked. Soon the wheelbarrow was full of sticks and the yard was clear. “I accidentally used Morgan’s strawberry toothpaste last night,” Peter said. He shook his head. “I’m never going back to cool mint.”

A few times the flat blade in his pocket poked his thigh and Peter’s thoughts sank. He wished he could dispose of it, lose it on the ground, but he bit back the thought. Tony spoke to him and he laughed; how could this feel so natural?

“Pepper cut me off of the bubble gum mouthwash.” Tony said. “The older you get, the more people expect you to suffer.”

Morgan bounded out of the back door. Immediately, she squealed. “Are we going to have a campfire tonight?”

“Oops.” Tony said from one side of his mouth. Then he caught her as she leapt at him. “I don’t know… You’ve already done one fun thing today. We have a one-fun-thing a day limit, you know.”

Morgan dismissed this instantly. “Pete, do you want to have a campfire?”

Peter shrugged. “I have to catch my bus at 5:00, Mo. Sorry!”

Morgan stared at him, clearly not seeing the problem. “The bus can wait.” She smiled at her problem-solving skills.

“That’s not how busses work, Mo,” Peter said. To divert any more disappointment, he added: “Is it time to make the lemonade?”

Morgan smiled again. “Yep! We squeezed lemon juice from 50 lemons! Now we need sugar and water and mint and ice cubes…”

Peter let Morgan lead him inside. As they went, Tony caught his eye. He mouthed: “Fifty lemons?”

Peter returned his own mimed words: “She is your daughter!” before the back porch door closed.


	5. The Shapes We Give Pain

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Tony thought if he could let Peter geek out around the the lab, or wander star-struck through the Compound, it would cheer up the moody teen. Nobody would have trusted him with Pete if they’d thought anything was actually wrong. And, he didn’t seem depressed exactly, just more… uncoordinated than usual.
> 
> He remembered pushing back at Rhodey’s concern. But, Rhodey’s expression had no give. He wore his concern in such a dignified way. Tony admired it, even as he prepared to bolt from his chair, pace the floor, and possibly dismantle any machinery nearby."

Tony left the wheelbarrow by the fire pit. His back was nagging at him. Time to act old, now that nobody was looking. There was only so much physical therapy could restore after the Reversal. Tony sighed, but wasn’t unhappy. Peter had picked up more than his side of the yard and both pretended not to notice. Such a gracious kid, Tony thought with an affection that ached.

No matter how much he grew, how much he stood like a man, or how his face matured, Tony continued to think of Peter as his kid. Small frame, nervous tics, an exuberance that no one could keep up with— the whole deal. He wasn’t trying to discredit Peter’s adulthood or anything… He guessed it was just natural.

Tony thought about being young. He thought about himself as a young man, Peter’s age. He saw himself walking around wearing any old t-shirt from the thrift shop. It was his favorite way to piss off his father. Howard was so scared of losing control over Tony.

Ratty clothes and drinking canned soda, for whatever reason, irked Howard. Tony remembered getting a burning nostril full of Pepsi-Cola one visit home. He’d said some smart ass thing along the lines of: “dress for the job you want” and Howard knocked the can he was drinking into his nose.

Control. Tony scoffed. He had fallen into that trap. 

When he first learned Peter was cutting, back when Peter was truly a kid, just fifteen, Tony’s entire nervous system had seized up and then threw itself into overdrive. Embarrassment twinged in his stomach at the thought of how overreactive he’d been with Peter; he was pretty sure some of his first words were, “You can’t do that!” 

He removed all tools with sharp edges from the Compound. The Spider-Drone was coded with a new protocol to log the presence of unsafe objects in Peter’s possession. Meanwhile, Peter withdrew and agonized in hiding more. May had to teach him how to respond calmly— instead of, you know, like the human equivalent of a shaken beer can, erupting at the slightest increase in pressure.

May was incredible. Parent of the Year, no contest. Tony didn’t realize parents like her existed. He remembered watching her kiss Peter’s hair while the boy shook in her arms; he was impressed and even inspired. How did she learn to convert her concern into affection? His only resembled anger.

The kid had shrieked at Tony, begged him not to tell May. “Please— Please! You don’t understand!— I won’t do it anymore!” Peter had clutched at the air around him, the large sleeves of the sweatshirt he was wearing practically flapping around his body as he gestured his desperation. “I promise—“ he gasped, “Please, I promise.”

There was a knot in Tony’s throat as he watched Peter plead. Rhodey had to step in, speaking lowly and gingerly. “Pete,” Rhodey said, “your aunt loves you and I think she needs to know.”

Peter crumbled. “Colonel Rhodes… Mr. Stark…” he whimpered. His hands gripped his skull. Tony had never seen him like this. Rhodey gently stopped Tony from grabbing Peter’s hands, which were tearing at his hair. “You can’t tell her… she’ll… you don’t understand.”

“Everything’s going to be okay, kid.” Rhodey said. “We all just want to do our jobs to keep you safe.”

Rhodey had claimed he wasn’t an expert, but he was in a hell of a different league than Tony, who at that moment, was obsessing over the image of Peter, dead in a closet or a bathtub, like the films always depicted. 

He was stricken with helplessness. He just could not comprehend what Peter was doing. It scared the shit out of him. It would always scare him to think about a knife held to his kid’s skin. Even more frightening was that he had no clue how to deflect the hand that held it, because it was Peter’s hand.

Tony reached the lemonade stand and decided to move it more toward the driveway. Got to keep up the illusion that anybody might stroll by and ask for a glass. Tony braced his knees and hefted the stand, resting half on his abdomen, balancing the other half on his legs. Awkwardly, he sidled around the corner of the house.

Tap, tap, tap. Tony turned to the kitchen window, where Peter was rapping from inside. Peter tilted the pane open and called out to him.

“Are you kidding me? I could have moved that.” Peter’s admonishing tone was playful. But, Tony knew he was serious. He had a long-handled spoon in his right hand, sleeve pushed to his biceps, apparently on mixing duty. The cuff of his left sleeve was still dangling on the wrist. The contrast of exposed and non-exposed arms was noticeable; Tony didn’t mean to stare. “Put it down and I’ll take care of it.”

“I tell you what, young buck…” Tony shouted back. He quickly shuffled toward his goal, wheezing a little. “If I’m still here by the time you make it out, you can carry it to the—“

Peter jumped from the porch railing before he could finish, having dashed through the kitchen. From his landing point, he sprinted a few steps and was standing in front of Tony in a second. He took the lemonade stand firmly from both sides. His laugh was like a breeze, light and breathy. Tony’s entire chest lifted at the sound; it had been so long. 

“You’re ridiculous.” Peter said.

“Excuse me, who just turned my kitchen into the 30 Meter Hurdles?” Tony watched Peter walk away with the stand. He placed his hands on his mid back and stretched it backwards.

From the kitchen window came another voice. “Petey’s so fast!” Morgan’s little face was pressed against the screen.

Tony grinned at her in answer. Pepper appeared and shot a disapproving look. She mouthed the words: “Are you okay?” He straightened and returned a thumbs up, to which Pepper twisted her lips and moved away from the window.

“Where would you like this, Tony?” Peter asked. He had set the lemonade stand in front of the porch.

“That’s good, that’s good.” Tony walked to him. “Thanks, bud.”

Peter stood looking at Tony, words in his mouth, but not speaking. Carrying the stand had pushed up his left sleeve onto his forearm. Tony saw the little Hello Kitty Band-Aid planted on his wrist. He was struck by the amount of love that Peter held for Morgan. For others in general. The kid wrung himself out for everybody else; it scared Tony how exhausted he must be. If he’d just let anyone love him back… But who was he to talk?

Peter spoke then. It was a simple phrase, but Tony knew the significance. “Thank you for having me.”

“This is your home, anytime.” Tony said. He reached out and put an arm around Peter’s shoulders. They walked together up the porch steps. “I mean, it’s not like you haven’t eaten my food and worn my clothes and fallen asleep on my furniture for years.”

Peter grinned. He opened the front door, turning to Tony. “Pepper offered to make lemon bars as a treat. Morgan is convinced that we don’t have enough lemons for anything but lemonade. We could sure use another player on Team Dessert.”

“Be right there.” Tony chuckled. Peter went inside. Slowly, Tony lowered himself into one of the porch chairs. His back thanked him instantly.

Tony thought of Peter’s face, fifteen, haloed in digital light. His curls blended into the color of his cheeks. His eyelashes were softened with sleep. The 1 a.m. television glow was unusual at the Avengers Compound and Tony had strode into the living area to investigate. Peter was asleep on one of the couches. 

He’d been sent from the lab an hour ago to go to bed. “If you want May to let you do this from time to time, I have to look like a responsible guardian” had been Tony’s argument. This wasn’t what he had meant. 

Rhodey sat reading on the chair next Peter.

“Why are you watching Jurassic Park on mute?” Tony asked.

Rhodey shrugged and closed his book, keeping a finger on the page. “Was watching it with the kid, but he fell asleep.”

Tony stepped around the couch for a better look. Peter was folded up so that he looked very small. His curled hands were laying limply in front of his face. The sweatshirt he was wearing puffed up around his neck and shoulder. Before, Tony may have joked offhandedly, but he stood a moment longer and looked at him. 

At some point, as he’d spent more time with the boy, his admiration of Peter’s ingenuity had turned into fondness. His commitment to Peter’s success and safety had become affection. Not that he admitted it to himself. He just shook his head and smirked.

Turning his attention back to Rhodey, he made a show of cocking his head. “Why is he wearing my shirt?”

“I gave it to him.” Rhodey deadpanned. When Tony gestured dramatically, he added: “He said he was cold.”

“Kind of you, Mother Rhodes.”

“Wake him up and take it. I dare you.”

Tony snorted a bit, recalling that exchange. Never could fool Rhodey, even when he could fool himself. He swiveled his watch face and absently texted a message to his friend. It read: “Remember when you taught me how to tie a necktie?”

No, there was no fooling Rhodey.

That night in the Compound, as Peter slept on the couch and computer-generated dinosaurs roared silently on the screen before him, Rhodey leaned forward and said, “Tony, I wanted to talk to you.” He instantly commanded Tony’s attention.

“You know I live for the smokey tones of your voice.” Tony said.

“It’s about Peter.”

Then Rhodes hesitated and Tony’s stomach fell.

Tony, true to his insecurity, deflected. “Don’t worry, he sleeps like he’s in cryostasis. Back in Berlin, he fell asleep in the car, right? Traffic was murder— Happy was cursing at other drivers, in German— our car got rear-ended… kid didn’t stir.”

Rhodey relented. “I think he’s hurting himself.”

Tony was silent. He attempted flippancy one last time. “Sounds like him. Pretty clumsy for having superhuman reflexes.”

“Earlier, I noticed some cuts on his side.” Rhodey persisted. “When he was pulling on your sweatshirt, he somehow got it twisted up. They’re pretty bad.”

Tony’s voice drained away. He’d noticed the kid was having a hard time focusing. He was more inward, too. Shit, Happy had even said that the kid seemed off. 

That was what this weekend at the Compound was about. Tony thought if he could let Peter geek out around the the lab, or wander star-struck through the Compound, it would cheer up the moody teen. Nobody would have trusted him with Pete if they’d thought anything was actually wrong. And, he didn’t seem depressed exactly, just more… uncoordinated than usual.

He remembered pushing back at Rhodey’s concern. “Couldn’t they be from patrol?” But, Rhodey’s expression had no give. He wore his concern in such a dignified way. Tony admired it, even as he prepared to bolt from his chair, pace the floor, and possibly dismantle any machinery nearby.

Tony’s watch buzzed; he was pulled from his memories. The text read: “Are you serious, texting me with this right now? I’m busy.” Tony scoffed softly.

He sniffed and answered: “Sorry, Mr. President. Or, Secret Service Agent managing Honey Bear’s phone. Never can tell these days…”

Tony thought of himself as a twenty-year-old again. He thought about all the ways he had tried to shape his pain until it looked like something else— something acceptable, easier to take. Drinking, partying, sex, manic spending, deliberately pissing off any authoritative male who looked at him… Maladaptive was the word Rhodey liked to invoke when he was preaching at Tony. His responses to stress, anger, or whatever, were maladaptive. Rhodey was such a pill sometimes.

Tony’s watch lit up again. Rhodey texted: “I remember when you lied and said you didn’t know how to tie one and I showed you. Then found out you’d been tying ties since you were seven.”

But Rhodey was right. It had taken Tony a hell of a long time to “adapt.” A long time before he didn’t feel the black eye Howard had given him when he was seventeen. Before he realized that he didn’t need to try to match his voice to anyone else’s to be heard. If anything, he was screaming at people. A long time before he trusted himself to make healthy decisions.

“It helped me get to my father’s funeral.” Tony sent back and relaxed a little in the chair.

Peter had chosen a different shape for his pain. And he wore it on his body. It was hard to look at, because Tony loved Peter, but somehow Tony learned to trust Peter with his own sadness while somehow supporting his self-care. Funny enough, as Tony became more secure, less reactive toward Peter, the kid began to open up. Peter told him little things every now and then. He asked for help with breathing or mindfulness exercises. He let Tony know when he was alone and felt the urge to harm. Whenever Tony saw that look of reliance, fear would grip him again. But he swallowed it and pushed forward for the kid’s sake.

Rhodey had told him that night: “Peter trusts you. There is no perfect speech that’s going to fix this– but there sure the hell is a wrong tone of voice.” Rhodey held his gaze. “Just from experience, don’t corner him, okay?”

Rhodey‘s text message came through: “What’s got you thinking about that?” Then, immediately: “How’s the kid? Is he there this weekend?”

Tony answered: “Yeah. He’s putting in the hours. You know how it is.”

There was a pause before Rhodey answered. It said: “Peter is a great kid. He’ll be the best of us all one day. I’ve always said that.”

Tony smiled to himself. There was no doubt about that. Peter was a force to be reckoned with and Tony was so proud. Even when Peter couldn’t see it, couldn’t feel it in himself, he was a resilient, loving young man.

Rhodey: “Call me anytime. Really.”

Tony: “Will do, Boo. Kiss the Chief Justice for me.”

Tony stood and entered the lakehouse door. It was time to lend his support to Team Dessert. The sound of his family reminded him of his own recovery. Everyone was going to be okay.


	6. You're Allowed to Ask for Comfort

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony took another sharp breath through his nose. “Okay.” He said, drawing back so he could see Peter, but keeping close. “You don’t have to talk to me — but I’m scared about what you’re telling yourself … and I see you in pain and I just can’t... You know me. So— ” He sighed in that way Peter had heard for years, when he’d made up his mind about trying something that may not work (but usually did.) “I’m just going to run through the entire list and you— you just stop me when you’re tired of hearing me talk.”

Peter dropped to his heels so he could give Morgan a hug goodbye. “Mo, I had such a great time with you this weekend!”

Morgan stretched her entire body over him, pressing hard against his collarbone. She was still young enough to hug this way, tipping up on her toes and adding that dramatic “mm-mm-mm” grunt that kids did. “Thanks for buying my lemonade,” Morgan said. “You’re my best customer!”

Tony, standing with Pepper, just behind the kids, erupted with incredulity. “I bought two whole pitchers!”

“But Pete’s my best customer.” Morgan said, not even slightly swayed.

Peter shrugged at Tony. “Next time, buy five.”

Tony cocked his head. “That sounds dangerously like sass.” He said. Then, to Pepper, “They grow up and lose all sense of respect.”

Pepper ignored him and smiled at Peter. “I want you to call us when you get to the station in Boston.” She tilted her head in that way that said she wouldn’t be angry if he didn’t call but she’d definitely take matters into her own hands and call him herself. May loved that tactic.

“Yes, ma’am.” Peter couldn’t quite resist smiling.

“You all packed?” Tony asked.

“Yes.”

“Me, too.” Tony held up his travel mug of coffee.

Morgan was still looped around Peter’s neck. She seemed to think if she didn’t say anything, he would wear her like a necklace back to MIT. Or, maybe, she would keep him there until he forgot he was leaving. He gently held her arms as he stood, encouraging her to release him. “I’ll ask Ned to come next time and we’ll look at that Ocean Hideout, okay?”

Morgan shone. “Really? —Oops!”

Everything stopped for Peter there. The freeing normalcy, the peace of being with his family, the promise of making it out of this… was derailed. There was a clinky sound as he stood. He looked down. Morgan looked down. She dropped to the floor. Peter stopped breathing.

Morgan pinched the flat blade with her small fingers, lifting it from the faux-slate floor. She held it up to Peter. Her movements were quick and far too naive. All three adults tensed visibly, as if their shoulders were yanked by strings. “Pete, this fell out of your pocket!”

Peter’s heart bulged under his jaw. He looked at Morgan’s proud face. She was being helpful. Her gaze searched for his thanks and praise.

“Thank you, Mo.” Peter choked out. He retrieved the multi-tool blade and immediately held it close to his stiff frame. He knew that Pepper had just looked at Tony though he couldn’t make out their expressions. His breath was quaking on his tongue.

“When are you coming back?” Morgan asked with a whine.

“Soon, I hope.” He sighed out the words. The anxiety beating in his knees was too much to take. He shifted and let the force drive out of the door. “See you then.”

As he stumbled across the threshold and onto the porch, he heard Tony say something about being back after driving him to the bus station. Peter pushed the sound from his ears. He wanted to be the smallest space he could, with no sounds and no lights. He used to sit in the laundry nook of his apartment between the washer and the wall. May would crouch down and ask for a thumbs up or thumbs down.

Tony was standing behind him now. Peter didn’t have to look to know it was him. He wished it wasn’t. “You took that from my workshop?” Tony asked softly.

Peter’s croaked. “Yes.”

“You’ve had it all day.”

It may not have been a question, but Peter answered. “Yes.”

Slowly, a paralysis was creeping over Peter’s scalp. The situation, what Tony could be thinking or feeling, it was intangible, unreadable, and somehow sterile. Peter’s bones felt like they were moving closer together, as if tightening at the joints. He heard Tony speak; he understood the words but the emotions behind them were like a foreign language.

“I would like it back.” Tony held out his hand.

Peter obediently laid it on his palm. He whispered, almost inaudibly. “Yes, sir.”

Tony sighed a little, his breath sounding thin and sharp like the metal edge in his hand. “I’m going to put this in my workshop. I’ll be right back.”

Only after Tony’s footsteps receded and Peter heard the porch door clap shut, his mind began to race. He looked behind him, at the porch door. He spun around the porch aimlessly and his seeking eyes turned to the still, dark woods beyond the lakehouse. For a moment, he was lost. No, he wasn’t lost. He was outside… outside the house.

Then, he righted himself and walked to the car.

I did this. Even if this began as stress or anxiety or depression or anything legitimate— what about now? He was hardly working on school, had quit his job, nobody was asking him to do anything. He wasn’t helping anybody, saving anybody— no, he was letting them suffer while he invented pain and avoided people whom he loved.

Peter slammed the car door, blocking the sight of the lakehouse. He had nearly crawled into the back seat; he wanted to hide. I’m doing this to myself, he thought. Indulging in his patheticness. Ater everyone had done so much for him, babied him, protected his weakness, he kept testing their mercy.

The driver side door opened, causing Peter to jolt. Pepper leaned down so she could see him and Peter’s chest cried out in pain. No, no! He wasn’t ready for this.

She slid into the driver’s seat. “Tony’s on his way,” she said gently. Then she sniffled. The weepy blush around her eyes was glowing in the sunset. “Peter,” she said.

He braced himself for her disappointment, waiting to hear her explain how he’d hurt them. He’d finally, finally run out of grace. Relief and dread hammered down his nerves. Run out of grace; let this end. Now.

“I think you should stay.” Pepper said, her voice wet with tears.

No, this was worse. Peter careened away from her. Paralysis shot through his system.

“I know I can’t make you.” Pepper bit at her lip. “But— please stay or— or go to New York, go home to May. Just don’t go back by yourself. Not like this.”

Peter forced a smile. He worked up his best promise-giving tone. “I can’t. It’ll get worse if I keep avoiding it... I’m alright; I’ll try harder.” He hated the sound of forgiveness in her voice; he hated that he’d put it there. Hated that she was begging him to be safe. “I’m sorry about what I did.” His voice ran out after that.

Pepper nodded. “I know.” She whispered. “Morgan’s okay. We’ll take care of her.” She swallowed. “Peter. We’re worried about you.”

Peter sucked in his lips and nodded.

Pepper watched his bowed form a moment longer and breathed. “Think about it. If you change your mind, just tell Tony, and he’ll bring you home.” She nodded her encouragement. Clasping his shoulder briefly, she said good-bye. He didn’t watch her leave; the door latched. He only glimpsed Tony murmur to her as they crossed paths in the yard. She answered him and he paused, watching her return to their house.

Peter folded in on himself, waiting.

“Still going to the bus station?” Tony asked when he climbed into the car. There was no anger. The question had been weary. It broke Peter’s heart. Anger was easier to take. He had defenses for anger. Not for this. That’s right. You’re not the victim, Peter reminded himself.

When he silently nodded, Tony simply said, “Okay.”

The car began to move. In his lameness, Peter felt its motion more strongly. He desperately fought against the momentum to keep his paralyzed body still— as if any sign of his presence would worsen the offense.

Peter heard the pull of the tires on the road. Tony left the radio off. The radio was never off when they drove together. Occasionally, Peter could hear himself breathe and he pursed his lips to muffle it. He could hear Tony breathe, little hitches now and then. A couple times he glimpsed Tony pass a hand over his trembling face.

This was it. His last lifeline, fraying, ready to end. He kept destroying what he had, inching toward perdition. Even knowing the cost, even watching the flickers of grief on their faces, he kept punishing his loved ones’ generosity.

Then Peter felt the flatline… the apathy, the defiance. It killed his mind. The shame and anxiety slowly dissipated. This was what he wanted, right? For Tony to find out. For Tony to be angry. To care. Then, despite everything, Peter would continue to lie, continue to withdraw. Trying to achieve something and not happy with what he got.

The car had made it away from the quiet seclusion of the Stark lakehouse property. The road now had streetlights to guide travelers toward civilization. The melon-colored tint flashed in the cab every thirty feet. Peter was ready to be gone. Just let this be over. But, they still had a forty minute drive to the nearest bus station.

The apathy emboldened him to look at Tony again. He had an excuse ready. It was the most noncommittal one he could think of— admitting guilt while downplaying the action. I just wanted to have it with me.

The words died.

Tony’s face. The color had drained from his cheeks but there was heat besetting his eyes. His jaw looked strained. He was crying.

Panic seized Peter by the ribs. No, no, no, no, no… He lowered his gaze to his lap again. Squeezed his fists. Shit!

Why are you surprised? He berated himself. He knew what he was doing to Tony. To May. To Pepper… It doesn’t stop you, though. All these people you’re hurting.

But I try to hide it, too. Act like my old self. Protect them from my bullshit. I don’t want them hurt. I don’t.

But you want them to see. You know how to stop, but you don’t. You’re trying to self-destruct.

Tony swiped away the tears that strayed from his eyes and replaced his hand on the wheel. 

Peter’s stomach turned. He bit his lip. He had to say something.

It’s different this time, he reminded himself. He was forcing Tony’s hand. Tony had his family to take care of. His daughter, who was only seven, had seen the blade. She had picked it up. The mortification of that finally registered with Peter. What if no one had realized Morgan had it? What if she had hurt herself before they’d known?

The image accosted him: Morgan standing before him, holding up the blade. He’d given her a part, a role, and educated her in something that she shouldn’t have known. He remembered the fascination and shame that began when he was nine. He remembered “trying it” when the faces weighed on him. No, it wasn’t May‘s fault. But this— what he’d done just now was different. In that moment, in the kitchen, she wasn’t handing the blade to him; he was handing it to her.

I feel sick.

There’s more, isn’t there? Tony cared about him. You know that. How could he deny it?

Tony had always watched out for him. Helped him. Protected him. How much time had Peter demanded from him? He had no right to ask for that time, that attention, now. No right taking away his time from the happy life he finally had found just because Peter couldn’t deal with things on his own.

Let him off; let the break be clean. Say something.

“I should probably not come over—“

Tony signaled suddenly and pulled onto the shoulder. 

The gravel pitched beneath them. Then there was stillness. Peter was frozen again. Whatever this was, he deserved it. Yet that didn’t ease the fear he felt like a rod up his spine. He heard Tony exhale and prepared himself.

When Tony’s hand took his shoulder, he flinched. But Tony ignored it, only pressing harder. He wasn’t looking at Peter, but Peter wasn’t looking at him either. Too afraid to see what was there - disappointment, anger, hopelessness.

“I love you—“

Peter’s eyes widened. He held his breath. He willed the apathy back, for his and for Tony’s sake. You shouldn’t.

“I love you, Pete.” Tony said again, almost helplessly, as if he was trying so hard to say only what would help and nothing that would hurt.

“I know,” Peter said quietly. “I’m sorry.”

“That’s not something you say ‘sorry’ to.” Tony said gently. He sat back in the driver’s seat, dropping his hand from Peter’s shoulder. Peter risked a glance; Tony seemed to be chewing on his thoughts, chewing on unsaid words. “Tell me the first thing you said to yourself when you heard me.”

“What?”

“When I said I loved you, what did you say to yourself?”

Peter curled up again. Dammit. Tony wasn’t going to make this easy. He wasn’t just going to drive Peter to the bus station, let him walk out of sight. He wasn’t going to yell and let Peter dissociate while he lectured. He had a hand on the wound. He was applying the pressure.

Tony was so much softer than when they first met. He was more peaceful and more comfortable. That openness in his voice, the unconditional affection, made Peter want to tell him everything, offload this burden, and be indulged in his weakness. How unfair was that? He couldn’t let himself be that selfish. Tony wasn’t supposed to take care of him forever.

It didn’t help that he kept asking Peter to let him help. Peter wanted to be honest with him. Isn’t that what this whole shitstorm was about? He wanted to validate his feelings - to bring what was buried outside where he could see it, where it could be with him and on him, a friend, a -- God. A what? None of this makes any sense.

This was about isolation— and why couldn’t he just deal with this himself? And didn’t he just want attention? Didn’t he want May and Tony and Ned to know and talk to him and hold him? Like a fucking child. Always setting the bone, always holding his hand.

But, he wasn’t going to stop. He had already decided. He had to protect that choice.

“Pete.”

“‘You shouldn’t.’” Peter whispered. “Is what I said... to myself.”

Tony nodded. He drew a breath through his nose. “I can almost see it on your face.” He drummed on the steering wheel with his thumb. Then, he reached over and put a hand on the back of Peter’s neck. Pulling Peter to himself, Tony pressed his cheek against Peter’s forehead.

Peter gasped involuntarily from the motion. Tony kissed him. Breath was heavy in his hair; it soothed him. In the rearview mirror, he saw that Tony’s eyes were open, contemplative, as he held him. Peter’s heart boiled. Emotions lost names; he just felt hot and airless from his throat to his stomach.

Tony took another sharp breath through his nose. “Okay.” He said, drawing back so he could see Peter, but keeping close. “You don’t have to talk to me — but I’m scared about what you’re telling yourself … and I see you in pain and I just can’t... You know me. So— ” He sighed in that way Peter had heard for years, when he’d made up his mind about trying something that may not work (but usually did.) “I’m just going to run through the entire list and you— you just stop me when you’re tired of hearing me talk.”

Peter looked at him with confusion, but Tony began anyway.

“I know that you didn’t want this to happen again. It’s okay that it did, though.” Tony said. The earnesty girded his words and Peter listened. How could he not listen when Tony was looking at him that way? “It doesn’t mean this is your life now, okay?

“Moving on,” Tony took a breath. “Getting better — whatever that means — is not a matter of willpower and no one expects you to strong-arm your way to health. Nobody is wondering why you haven’t just gotten over it yet.

“This isn’t a step back.” Tony continued. “There’s no such thing. All the work you’ve done and the ways you’ve grown aren’t automatically thrown out. It’s just a sign that something was wrong and you’re going to figure it out. You know who told me that?”

Peter finally felt the tears as they spilled against his nose.

“You did. When I freaked out in front you that one time, remember? You also told me this,” Tony said with a smile, “I trust you, even if you’re scared. You said that to me on the ship to Titan. I think about it all the time.”

It’s okay to listen, right? Peter hiccuped. Maybe. Maybe.

“What’s next? … I know. It’s okay if you don’t know what you need or if you can’t put it into words. We’re here for you; just tell us when you know.” Tony emphasized this with a reassuring shake. “It’s okay to not want to go through recovery again.” Tony paused to let him consider this. “Rhodey used to tell me that. After I would relapse.” Tony gave a small, almost guilty grin. “Recovery hurts in ways that just … giving in doesn’t. It’s exhausting and not wanting to go through it doesn’t make you a weak person.”

“Tony…” Peter managed to whine.

“You’ve done it before, though. I remember and I hope you do, too. Nothing can disqualify your recovery or the work you’ve done to get this far.” Tony sniffed and kept going. “You don’t have to prove that your pain is real or important. It is. I can tell you with absolute certainty that it is.”

Peter listened, but was no longer able to answer, even if he tried.

“You don’t have to be so unkind to yourself.” Tony continued. “I like you; you know that? I like you when you’re okay and when you’re not okay. You’re a great kid. Couldn’t ask for better.”

Tony was crying again now.

“Now, listen to this. Not only is it okay to ask to talk to me or May or anyone you trust, but we want you to.” Tony said then he paused. A look passed over his face as if something had just occurred to him. “Pete, you are allowed to ask for comfort. Or attention. Speaking for myself, I love being with you. You can ask for comfort. Pepper taught me that one. You’re allowed.”

“I—” Peter schooled sound out of his throat. “I want to talk to people. I,” he shuddered, suddenly exhausted, “I don’t want to hurt anybody. I don’t want to hurt them—”

Finally, the collapse. He couldn’t hold together the break. Not without first resetting the bone. For that, he needed help. As shameful as it felt.

“I think I’m just making this up.” Peter yanked out the words. “I think when I had that panic attack in the dorm, I was genuinely dealing with something, but now, I … I don’t know.” Peter rubbed his face. “It just felt so familiar. I didn’t want to leave once I was...”

Tony stayed quiet, but made sure that Peter knew he was listening.

“I keep trying to figure out why I do this, but…” Peter scoffed at himself and bit his lip. “The reason keeps changing and I’m going around and around… I think it’s just because I want to. And I’m hurting everyone I love for no reason.” 

He choked and Tony caressed his shoulder. Peter felt his frame relax briefly. He realized that what he was feeling was relief. But he didn’t deserve relief— so he whipped up the flurry of shame again. “And Morgan… How could I do that? I— I can’t— I don’t—“

For several minutes Peter was unable to form a coherent sentence. He coughed up syllables to words his mind had forgotten by the time they were in his mouth. He didn’t look at Tony. Finally he rasped out: “Why aren’t you angry at me?”

There was a heavy silence. Tony’s hand stopped rubbing his shoulder but he didn’t remove it and Peter was grateful. Then Tony’s hand resumed its comforting motion.

“I was angry at you.” Tony said. Peter met his eyes and Tony smiled at him. “But here’s the thing about being a dad.” He took a breath to form the words. “I can protect Morgan.” He slowed to make sure Peter was listening. “And I can protect you, too. At the same time, even. That’s how good I am.”

“You shouldn’t have to, though!” Peter nearly shouted.

“I don’t care.” Tony matched his tone. “Try to stop me, Parker.” 

Peter broke to breathe for a moment, pressing a palm against his eyes. “ I don’t” — he gulped— “I don’t—“ but there was suddenly no end to that phrase. Whatever he’d meant to say was lost in a vacuum of childish desires to go home.

The car was quiet except for the soft eruption of Peter’s sobs. More than once he felt Tony brush his fingers over his hair. He remembered the way May had kissed his forehead when he was fifteen and had finally asked for help. What a sweet feeling. Maybe he could do this again.

“What do you need to be safe for the next, let’s say… two hours?” Tony asked, when Peter’s breathing calmed.

The car seemed more spacious than before. But, he wanted to move. A spurt of energy surged down his chest, into his legs. He was like a car given too much acceleration. He took the question seriously, thinking about steps to relieve this unwanted energy. “I want to take a walk,” Peter said, “with you.”

Tony nodded, too encouraged to hide his joy at the request— too optimistic to play it cool. “We can walk!” Peter was endeared. Tony asked, “Where do you want to walk?”

Peter didn’t answer for a long time. After a time, he sighed. “I need to go back to school,” Peter said in an exhausted voice. “I can’t keep avoiding my life. I want to... try.” He glanced at Tony to see if he understood. Tony nodded, an open expression on his face.

“We’ll get you ready for school.” Tony assured him. “Here, let me get us off the highway.”

Peter dropped his volume meekly. “Would it be okay if I stay with you for just one more day?”

“Of course,” Tony said. He touched Peter’s cheek— he was brushing away tears, Peter realized. Then, he said. “Pete, you said you think you’re making things up, but,” he gave Peter a scrutinizing look, “if you’re in pain, it doesn’t really matter where it comes from, it’s still your pain.”

“Thank you, Tony.” Peter said, unable to express how much he had wanted to hear this— all of it.


	7. Okay

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Mo, I’m -- I’m hurt in two places. It’s hard...” He sighed. “To explain exactly, but all the hurt is coming from inside me…?”
> 
> “Like your bones?” Morgan asked. She was obviously listening intently, ready to finally understand what was causing all the adults around her to act so weird.
> 
> “No, more like…” He laughed a little; it sounded stupid. “My feelings.” Tony gave him a validating look and he pressed on. “Or my mind in general. It’s just that… There have been a lot of really sad things and painful things that have happened and sometimes I get…” He breathed. “... Confused and feel like they’re still happening or that it’s my fault even when it’s not.” He licked his lips. “I don’t always know what to do about it. Sometimes I make it worse.”
> 
> This time when he tried to breathe, there were sharp crackles in his nose. He was looking down, but he felt Tony reach out and put a hand on his shoulder. Morgan asked, “So, you’re not all better yet? Inside?”
> 
> ***
> 
> The end of the story. Thank you all for reading! This has been an important work for me as I heal from my own scars. Thanks again!

Happy thought that May Parker might be testing the limits of the Audi’s suspension; her foot had not stopped thumping the floorboards the entire drive from Queens through the Bronx. When he picked her up in front of the Parkers’ apartment building, she had been leaning on a lamp post and twisting a piece of her blouse. It was so torqued he could see her bellybutton. She shook with a vigilant energy and yet, she didn’t seem to understand that he was her ride until he opened the car door and walked a couple feet toward her.

“Mrs. Parker?” He called.

She sprang up, inclined toward him almost magnetically. “Are— are you—“ she fumbled with his name, “Happy? I’m sorry. That just feels like a weird thing to say.”

Happy stiffened slightly but tried not to be self-conscious. “Harold Hogan. You can call me ‘Happy.’ I’m here to take you to the facility upstate,” he said, but she was already rushing to the car.

“Oh, thank you! I’ll pay for the gas.” She said.

“No, no need, ma’am...” He blustered absently, opening the back door for her. Then he entered the driver’s door. He knew that she would want to get to the Compound as soon as possible. Tony hadn’t given her any information when he called that morning, just asked if she could come up and talk with him and Peter. He heard the back door shut but didn’t see her in the mirror.

May appeared at the front passenger window, tapping on the glass. His brief, confused exclamation was snuffed out by the opening of the door. She leaned in. “Can I sit in the front with you? Is that alright? I think I would feel more comfortable.”

Happy opened his mouth, but May didn’t wait for an answer. She slid in and buckled her seat belt. Then, her hands sought the now wilted hem of her blouse. Her leg began to quake against the floorboard. The kid got his anxiety honestly, he thought.

They had another hour and fifty minutes of their drive when Happy felt like he should actually say something to her. “It’s going to be okay.” He said, with what he thought was assurance.

The statement caused a rip and all of May’s worries crashed onto him. “Can you just tell me what’s wrong?” She nearly leaned over the gear shift. “Did Peter get hurt? Is he sick? Did he ask for me? Or was this all your boss’s idea?”

Whoa, she was intense. Happy cowered a little. Tony hadn’t exactly told him much either. He knew that Peter had been upset all morning and that Tony wouldn’t allow him to be left alone. Either he or Rhodey had been with the kid since breakfast at the latest. Happy understood that the kid had or had had (he healed so quickly) marks that looked self-inflicted. Well, maybe that was all there was to know.

“I shouldn’t have agreed to this.” May fretted. She huffed which turned into a very unnatural… roar of sorts. “Aaaurgh! Just when I was starting to feel better about all this superhero junk. I mean, he’s got to have some reign over his own life, and it’s not like I could stop him, and what if he just started going out vigilante-ing and lying about it? Right?”

“Well,” Happy said cautiously, “that was what he was doing originally.”

“Right? Oddio …” She cradled her forehead. “He seemed happier after I found out and we were actually talking again, you know? Or I thought. And Tony Stark ‘linked me in’ or whatever to KAREN, which helped. And,” she admitted, “made it so much worse.”

Happy nodded; his heart went out to her. He doubted that Tony gave her much access to KAREN past a simple check-in protocol. It likely didn’t include anything that would scare her, like actual video feed; just what she needed to know Peter was okay and maybe his location. It would be difficult to know whether what she imagined was worse or better than what the kid actually got into on patrol.

May just wanted to protect her son— or, nephew, he remembered. But, that kid was nearly impossible to protect. Just like someone else he knew who lacked any sense of self-preservation.

“Then…” Her voice buckled. “I don’t know. He became so far-away and moody. Am I the only one this worried about him?”

Happy laughed. Then he realized that was a mistake. From the corner of his eye, he caught her indignant glare. “Eh. No! That’s not what I meant. Sorry. Not at all! Tony’s beside himself.”

May stared at him. “Really?”

He nodded. Strangely, knowing that someone else was a mess over Peter’s well-being seemed to pacify her. She leaned back in her seat and sighed. “So what are we so worried about, Harold? I’m guessing Tony Stark figured it out.”

“I think it was actually Colonel Rhodes.” Happy said. They were quiet for a while, so he said, “I don’t know exactly what’s going on, but,” he said with a slow exhale, “I think Peter’s been, uh, um, well, hurting himself. On purpose.”

May straightened. She was sitting so erect that he couldn’t see her in his periphery. After a few minutes of silence, Happy looked over at her. He wasn’t sure what he expected to see; how does a mother react when they find out their child is hurting themselves?

May was drawing deep, controlled breaths through her nose. She was pensive, her body quieted at last. She might have been coaching herself or drawing up a plan of action. Finally, she unleashed a sigh and said, “Thank you for telling me, Happy.”

Feeling genuine gratitude from her, Happy blushed a little.

Then she quirked her head. “Who is Colonel Rhodes?”

“Oh, he’s a great guy. One of the Avengers and a close friend of Tony’s.”

“Anything like him?”

“No.” Happy couldn’t help a smirk.

May considered this, nodding. “Well,” she said, “I’m glad that Peter has so many people looking out for him. God knows he needs it.”

Happy saw the earnesty in her smile, though it was sad, anxious to reach the Compound. Again he wanted to comfort her. “We’re,” he said, “all on the same team.”

May reached over and touched his shoulder. The touch was warm and soft. Happy felt it for a long time.

Happy lingered as May entered the Avengers living area where Tony, Rhodey, and Peter were gathered. Peter was pallid, quaking. He looked like a kid waiting in the principal’s office. As soon as he saw May, he collapsed into sobs. “Come here, baby,” she said, and Peter flung against her, calling her name. “I’ve got you.”

Happy flushed, feeling like he shouldn’t watch. He’d never seen Peter so vulnerable. All morning the kid seemed crazed, belligerent, or resigned. (Tony, also crazed and belligerent, wasn’t much help.) Now, the kid was just broken.

Tony and Rhodey appeared similarly uncomfortable. They backed a few steps away from the boy and his aunt. None of them left, however, too curious about how May would make this right. Parents had incredible abilities and the three men had never felt that power in themselves. They were relying on her, maybe as much as Peter was.

“I’m sorry!” Peter whimpered. “It’s really not that big a deal, I swear! I just wanted to, I don’t know— I don’t know what I was thinking— And I heal so fast with my spider powers— so I didn’t think it mattered.”

Tony wound up, ready to interject, but Rhodey squeezed his shoulder. Ah, Happy thought, Rhodey’s here to run block. But, before anybody answered Peter’s confession, May hummed— a little, sweet sound. She was rubbing Peter’s back, looking like she was trying to retrain his convulsing lungs on how to do their job.

“Peter,” May said, “are you hungry?”

Peter sniffed and stared at her, just as confounded as everyone else in the room. “Huh?”

“Do you have a full stomach?” She asked kindly.

Peter subconsciously belted his arms across his waist. He’d barely finished a bowl of Honey Nut Cheerios before Tony had approached him that morning. Afterward, he rejected any thought of food. His only fuel was his desperation to regain control over his life. “I,” he said in monotone, “ate.”

“Good,” May said, lightly. She paused and smiled. Happy realized that Peter’s breathing had steadied. “Good night’s sleep?”

Peter nodded. Then he lobbed another little cry. “I’m so sorry.” His voice squeaked on its hinges.

“Why, bambino mio?” She asked.

Peter chewed on his bottom lip. He was burning with contrition. Happy reminded himself how young Peter was— too young for so much regret. It was potent enough to kill a grown man, but Happy shoved the phrase from his mind. This was not the time.

Peter was sucking in sharp breaths. “You had to come all the way up here… I didn’t want to make you worry,” he whispered.

“Peter,” May said, leaning her head toward him. “I’m okay. You’re the one who’s hurting. I’m sorry that you were hurting all alone. I’m glad I know now.”

The room was quiet; all three men were captivated, each studying May.

“I think you’re very brave, standing in this room full of adults, talking about something so private and painful.”

Happy saw Tony twitch guiltily. He had the same thought Tony must have. Did Peter feel ganged up on? Was May telling them to leave? But, then she said: “Do you want to talk?”

“Not really.” Peter cried. His voice strained under frustration.

“Okay.” May said easily. “Well, when you do, look around...” She indicated Tony, Rhodey, and Happy, who jumped a bit at being included. Peter was too timid to look, but May continued. “The people in this room care about you. They’re on your side, okay?”

Peter shyly glanced at them. Rhodey muttered something like “that’s right, kid” and Tony took off his sunglasses and said the same, but with his gaze. Happy tried to smile at him. May wasn’t wrong, but what she said brought the responsibility and anxiety they were all feeling for the boy into sharp focus.

May touched Peter’s cheek. “And I will always be here for you. I’m your aunt, that’s my job.” She gave him an off-kilter grin. He closed his eyes and let his tears sweep out. “I know it can feel scary and shameful to say some of those dark thoughts out loud. I used to worry that mine would overwhelm other people and I would lose my friends. So, I hid them and waited for them to go away, but…” She clicked her tongue. “It doesn’t really work like that. Something’s got to release them.”

Peter looked at her, gaining some resolve. “I know. I didn’t want you to blame yourself. It’s my fault. I hear about it a lot at school and it just seemed like… I don’t kn— It seemed like an easy way to keep things on me, but— like— release some of it, too. I didn’t want you to think it was because of you.”

May faltered a little, sensing something more he wanted to say. “What do you mean, baby?”

“After Ben died.” Peter murmured. “One time… it was late… you thought I was asleep.”

It took a moment then she processed what he meant. A horrified expression overturned May’s face. This was the first instance of dread Happy had seen since he told her what was really going on, in the car. Her jaw opened mutely. She closed her eyes.

Peter burst. “I—I don’t know why I said that, May. I’m sorry! I just—“

Shit, Happy thought. Even Rhodey looked like they should not be here with the Parkers. It was too late to excuse themselves, so they all shuffled and looked at the ground.

Happy could guess why Peter had confessed what he’d seen. To hold onto such knowledge, as a child, and for so long— it must have felt like a black hold inside him. Happy had kept secrets, things he felt ashamed for knowing, too. Confession was like a pressure valve. He wondered if Peter had also been trying with this admission to justify not telling May about his own self harm sooner.

May recovered. She smiled at Peter and Happy marveled at her resilience. She said, “I never wanted for you to be part of that. I’m so sorry, Peter.” Firmly, she said, “I don’t want you to worry about that anymore. I will take care of myself. I learned how. And I am here for you, too. I will help in every way I can.”

After that, May gently sent Peter to have lunch and decompress on his own. Tony was visibly anxious about this, which May noticed. She gave him a reassuring gesture. The adults began discussing what they should do to support Peter. Tony came up with many ideas, which May kindly tweaked to respect Peter’s autonomy. “The more we show him trust, the more he’ll feel control in a good way.”

Tony suggested upgrading KAREN with a few counseling scripts, in case Peter felt more comfortable talking with the A.I. than a person. May commended the idea, but said she would find a non-robotic therapist to consult as well. Tony began scrolling through articles on How to Help Your Teen if They Are Cutting while Rhodey asked May if they should develop a plan for communication between them.

Happy let them make the decisions; he would follow the plan when they told him what to do. He left the living area. A few moments later he walked into the kitchen and nearly bumped into a slumped figure, eating a bowl of mac and cheese while sitting on the floor, back against the kitchen island.

Peter scrambled to his feet, embarrassed. Happy waved him off and tried to say something helpful, or at least not awkward. “You made that mac and cheese pretty fast.” What the hell was that?

Peter shrugged stiffly, his eyes wide. “It’s pretty much instant. Kraft Easy Mac.” He explained.

“Still looks too hot to eat.” Happy remarked. “You’ll burn your tongue.”

Peter was silent. He swirled his fork in the bowl. Then he looked at Happy as if saying, “okay …thanks?”

“You should put some butter in it.” Happy said, thinking that he needed to just end this exchange. “It’ll cool it down faster. Make it taste better, too.”

“Thanks. I’ll try it.”

Happy got the butter from the refrigerator and set it on the island. Then, for some reason, he kept talking. “Your aunt sat next to me on the drive up.” He had no idea where he was going with this.

Neither did Peter. He cocked an eyebrow and said, “I forgot there was a passenger seat up there.” He seemed to uncurl a little.

“Yeah.” Happy let the sound drag. “She’s a cool lady...”

“Does that mean I get to sit in the front from now on?” Peter teased.

Happy considered the the teen. His eyes were rubbed red. He looked volatile and younger, in a way, than he used to. Peter had always seemed a pest; having him as an assignment felt like Tony was undervaluing Happy’s time. Not to mention, the kid was a motormouth. But, Peter was so capable and so kind. Life had been unfair; Happy had been unfair.

“Sure, why not?” Happy said with a shrug.

Peter, expecting a grumpy response, let his smile fade. He must have felt things changing. People were treating him differently. Not much you can do about that, kid, Happy thought. He patted Peter’s shoulder and walked away before Peter could feel any more like the kid everyone pitied.

Happy called over his shoulder, though: “You start trying to make one of those internet videos in my car again, though, and you’ll go right back. With the division up, too.”

He heard Peter laugh, a little, sweet sound. Happy felt relief open his chest. Peter said, “It’s called a TikTok.”

Ned and Peter pulled up to the Stark lakehouse and both looked as though their facial features might drop off. Ned twisted and cracked a few joints, anticipating the effort of getting out of the Hyundai after four straight hours of driving. Both of them had empty wrappers littering them. The aux cord, phone chargers, and Peter’s sound-blocking headphones snaked around and clung to them as they tried to get out. “Let’s just fly back.” Ned moaned.

Peter fumbled, trying to untangle himself from the seat belt and the jacket he’d shed while trying to drive. It kept the shape of his sitting form, pressed into the seat. “What about your mom’s car?”

“Mr. Stark can have it,” Ned said. “Maybe he can turn it into a robot.”

Peter laughed. Despite how miserable they felt at that moment, he was so glad they decided to meet and take a road trip from New York to the lakehouse. Getting with Ned was so difficult now that they were on opposite coasts, Ned a freshman at Berkeley. They could FaceTime, of course, but that wasn’t the same.

The drive with Ned had been like an inoculation; Peter felt invigorated, laughing from his belly, reliving embarrassments from high school that now just seemed funny, and giving in to Ned who forced him to sing the entire Kero Kero Bonito album he’d downloaded. There had been quiet moments of companionship, too, when Peter drove and Ned dozed, or the other way around, and he felt so comfortable. Ned even held his hand occasionally, like they had the spring of senior year when they had played with the idea of being more than friends, before they realized that there was nothing “more than friends,” that the way they already were was perfect.

“Somehow I don’t think that’ll fly with Nancy.” Peter laughed. He could see Happy on the porch and nodded a greeting when they made eye contact. Happy pointed inside, in the direction of the kitchen, indicating where they should head.

“You know, she lets me do just about anything when I’m home now that I moved to the other side of the country.” Ned’s grin was a mixture of awe and wickedness.

“Including donating her vehicle to science?”

They laughed as they approached the porch. Ned called a greeting to Happy. “How’ve you been, Mr. Hogan?”

“Fine, kid. Is that a fashion statement?” Happy returned gruffly. He nodded toward Ned’s hat.

Ned pointed to the fedora on his head. “Everybody wears hats in California!” His enthusiasm about this was beyond Happy. “Have you been to California, Mr. Hogan?”

Happy’s brows dug down into his nose. “Like...” He shrugged, “Any part of it?”

Ned just smiled in return.

Peter was grinning but trying not to laugh at his friend. It seemed like forever ago that they’d giggled over magazine spreads of the Stark Malibu mansion, starstruck kids fantasizing about their own multi-billion dollar technology empire. Happy glanced at him but received a shrug.

Happy sighed a little then clipped out: “Yeah.”

“Then you know what I mean about the hats.”

“Yep,” said Tony, appearing from around the porch. “Everybody wears them, even the babies.”

Happy rolled an annoyed look at Tony and shuffled away, on to his next, evidently more interesting, task.

“Hello, Tony,” Peter said and hugged him.

Tony patted his back before Peter pulled away. He smiled at Ned, who was still as much a Tony Stark fanboy as ever. “Hey, Edward. Been a while.”

“Thanks so much for having me over, Mr. Stark!” Ned practically shouted.

Tony pretended that he wasn’t just yelled at and smoothly transitioned through the conversation. “Not a thing. How was the drive?” He directed most of his attention to Peter now.

Peter groaned. “Long.”

“Ah, well, why not grab a shower or nap or whatever you need. Huh? Get settled in.” Tony sniffled and shifted while the two young friends thanked him. “I hope you don’t mind, but I have another guest to see off. Sorry. They kind of dropped out of the sky on us a couple nights ago.”

Tony walked down the porch steps as if he was on his way to check the mail. Ned’s eyes bugged out of his skull. Grabbing at Peter’s arm, he whispered, “Who do you think it is? Oh my god! Dropped out of the sky— could it be Thor?”

Peter tried to coax him into the house, closer to a place to rest after the taxing trip.

“Captain Marvel?” He gasped. “The Falcon?”

“Ned,” Peter said, almost begging.

A burring noise distracted them. Peter looked up and saw a small drone -- very similar to his Spider Drone -- spying on them. He chuckled. “Hi! We’re coming.”

Morgan’s voice broadcasted from a tiny speaker on the drone. “We’re in the kitchen. We’re making mac and cheese!”

“I love macaroni and cheese!” Peter pushed the door open, talking to the drone as they made their way to the kitchen.

“I know. That’s why we’re making it.” Morgan’s voice came back with her signature authorial tone. The drone flew off and landed somewhere out of sight.

Peter walked into the kitchen, Ned in tow. Morgan was sitting on a high stool at the kitchen island, holding the controller to the drone. Pepper was a few feet away, a large bowl of noodles and cheese in her arms. She set the bowl in front of Morgan and greeted the boys.

“Hello, Mrs. Stark! Hey, Morgan,” Ned said with a small wave.

“Who’s that?” Morgan deadpanned and Pepper chided her softly. Peter dropped his jaw in amusement and surprise.

Ned stammered a little, taken off guard. “I-I’m Ned. You wanted me to come help you build the Minecraft LEGO set.”

Morgan recovered. “Oh! Hi!” She added to herself as she picked up the big bowl in front of her. “I forgot that one was Ned.”

Ned mumbled “that one?” to himself.

“Looks like our timing was almost perfect.” Pepper remarked to Morgan. Then she turned back to Peter and Ned. “We’ll have some fresh mac and cheese for you soon. You can eat with us or take a bowl to your room, if you’d like.”

Morgan said, “It’s too hot to eat still.” She began stirring the noodles and cheese together.

“I know a trick.” Peter said. “If you put a little butter into your bowl, it’ll cool down faster.”

“Really?” Morgan said, beaming. “I want to do that, Mommy.”

“Mm-hm. Forget who taught me that.” Peter said.

Pepper went to the cabinet and started removing bowls. “Why don’t you boys get settled and we’ll have things ready in a second?”

“Thanks, Mrs. Stark,” Ned said.

“Thank you, Pepper,” Peter said.

Before they could retreat, though, Morgan called after Peter. “Oh, Pete! Do you want a Band-Aid? I know you don’t need one, but, do you want one to wear?”

Peter abandoned the air in his lungs until its pressure was indistinguishable from the grip of anxiety around his heart. Then he released it, settling back comfortably in his stance. He gazed softly at Morgan, remembering the night Tony had driven him back, after he hadn’t left on the bus, after he let himself be led home.

He had withdrawn again, frightened by how vulnerable he’d let himself be in front of Tony-- how much he’d laid bare for Tony’s judgement. It was like gagging; it was reflexive. He’d exposed his wound and then desperately covered it again. Tony had let him; he knew that Tony expected it. It was nice to feel that patience and know that his loved ones were there for the ride, even if progress came painfully slow.

After walking around the lakeshore, mostly in silence or talking about non-consequential things, Tony let Peter sit on the porch for a while. He told Pepper and Morgan that Peter was there and needed some time. Peter had been exhausted, nursing a headache caused by tension and sobbing.

He called May and talked to her for a little while. He hinted at what had been going on, let her know that he was staying at the lakehouse another night, and answered her questions. May’s calmness moved through him like the same strong medicine that helped him sleep when he was a kid. “Take care of yourself,” she asked him quietly as they ended the call.

Then, as the night stilled him, he fell asleep on the porch swing, lying with his neck on his right arm. He woke to the feeling of frustrated tugs at his sleeve. Sniffing in a startled breath, he jolted his head up and saw Morgan. She shamefacedly sprang to her feet, holding her hands behind her back.

“Morgan?” He realized that his left sleeve was pulled down past his elbow. His cuts from the night before had closed and he’d already removed the plasters. The scars he knew he must have were faded, almost undetectable in the dim light, thanks to his mutant healing. Just little red rashes.

Drunk with sleep, however, Peter couldn’t think fast enough to calm his distress. He shuddered and sat up. “What are you doing?” He fumbled to fix his sleeve, hiding his arm again, then admonished groggily: “No.”

Morgan’s nose prickled and tears filled her eyes. She stepped away from him and then bolted for the front door. Peter sighed and chased after her. “Mo, wait!”

Morgan didn’t slow once they were inside but rounded the doorway and ran into Tony’s legs. She grasped at him once she felt him and cried. “Whoa! What’s this, Little Miss?” Tony asked, squatting down and taking her in his arms. He looked up and saw Peter approach.

Peter’s face was full of remorse. He leaned against the frame of the doorway that led into the living room. “I hurt her feelings,” he said. “Mo, I’m sorry. You surprised me and I don’t really want you to see…”

“Why? You’re all better now!” Morgan said, her voice muffled by Tony’s sweater.

Peter froze. Tony straightened, finally having gotten the full picture. He took over, trying to lessen the burden for Peter. “Maguna…”

“No,” Peter said quietly. “It’s okay.” He joined them on the floor, swallowing the lump of sleep and agitation in his throat. “Mo, I’m -- I’m hurt in two places. It’s hard...” He sighed. “To explain exactly, but all the hurt is coming from inside me…?”

“Like your bones?” Morgan asked. She was obviously listening intently, ready to finally understand what was causing all the adults around her to act so weird.

“No, more like…” He laughed a little; it sounded stupid. “My feelings.” Tony gave him a validating look and he pressed on. “Or my mind in general. It’s just that… There have been a lot of really sad things and painful things that have happened and sometimes I get…” He breathed. “... Confused and feel like they’re still happening or that it’s my fault even when it’s not.” He licked his lips. “I don’t always know what to do about it. Sometimes I make it worse.”

This time when he tried to breathe, there were sharp crackles in his nose. He was looking down, but he felt Tony reach out and put a hand on his shoulder. Morgan asked, “So, you’re not all better yet? Inside?”

Peter’s voice hitched with a sound he thought was ugly. “No. I’m sorry.” He tried an apologetic smile.

She hugged him, a little unsurely, trying to comfort him. “It’s okay, Pete. I love you.”

“Oh, I love you, too, Mo.” He said and placed a hand on her back. Fear for her sent a twinge into his stomach. He wanted to protect her from this. “Listen, you don’t need to worry about me. I’ll take care of myself, so don’t worry, okay?” He pulled away and looked intently at her. “And I have people who are helping me, like Aunt May, and your daddy, and doctors. I’m sad and scared, but I’m still okay. Okay?”

Morgan slowly agreed. “Okay.”

Tony spoke then, gently. “Alright, kids.” He didn’t say anything else, but they understood that this was bedtime, that they should rest, safe in their home, with their dad there to take care of the worries, if only long enough for them to sleep. Morgan seemed reluctant, unsatisfied that she still didn’t understand. Peter lifted her up and carried her to bed. “I’m still here.” He whispered to reassure her. “I’ll be okay.”

In the kitchen, almost a month since whispering that promise, Peter smiled at Morgan. He didn’t need the Band-Aid; they both knew that now. But, that was Morgan’s sign of love and support. It was the best she knew to do. Sure, she could give him space and be patient, but that didn’t feel like doing anything. The Band-Aid was something she could see, something to put on Peter to show that she cared about him. Something on him and with him, like a friend.

“Sure, Mo, thanks,” Peter said. Lowering, he exposed his left arm and waited. Seeing it held out to her, Morgan slipped from the stool and ran to get a Band-Aid from one of the many First Aid kits Tony had stationed around their house. Peter noticed Pepper swipe away tears from her cheek. She gave him an expression that asked if this was really okay and he smiled back at her.

Morgan ran back, tearing at the Band-Aid wrapper. “It’s a Bo Peep one! From _Toy Story_!”

“I love that movie!” Ned said, grinning at her and then at Peter. “We should watch it together.” Peter agreed happily.

Morgan stamped the Band-Aid down on Peter’s skin. She sighed and looked at him. Then, she walked back to the kitchen island and began stirring the mac and cheese again. A grounding sense of normalcy settled around them.

Tony was tinkering in his workshop that night. The kids had played until Morgan was lying asleep, cradled on Peter’s lap. Then Pepper carried her to bed and the four adults stayed up talking. When Ned and Peter wandered off to the kitchen for a midnight snack and Pepper decided to read in the bath before bed, Tony remembered that DUM-E’s gears were gunked up again. So, he had come to the workshop. Even inside the house, he could feel the day fall deeply into night. It was peaceful.

Tony scolded the bot as he scrubbed the minuscule crevices of different mechanical parts. “What the hell did you spill on yourself now?” He griped. DUM-E whirred and tried to move. “Ah-ah-ah, no! Don’t try to talk ‘til I put your face back together.”

Tony heard the workshop door unlatch quietly. Peter strolled down the steps. When he reached the bottom, he glanced at Tony and gave a small nod, saying “hi.” Tony smiled and continued his work while Peter reached out and patted DUM-E’s crane-like arm. “Hey, boy.” He mumbled, his eyes bleary with sleep; DUM-E whirred again.

Then, Peter wordlessly settled on the workshop couch. He folded himself as neatly as a napkin before pulling blanket after blanket from the back and arms of the couch. Soon he’d built a nest around himself. Peter burrowed against the back pillows of the couch.

Tony said, “You know, you don’t have to take it like some kind of challenge that there are nine blankets on that couch.”

“Y’know y’put ‘em here f’r me.” Peter slurred, eyes closed.

Moments passed in silence, Tony deconstructing the delicate mechanisms that ran DUM-E, and Peter knotted up like a fabric basket. Finally, Tony pinched at his eyes. He pulled out a leather case and donned the glasses that were inside. Not squinting as much, he inspected the part in his hand again for residue.

“Are you wearing glasses?” Peter asked, peeking out from his roost of blankets and akimbo limbs. His tone held a childlike wonder. Tony didn’t think he was still awake.

“Do you need some?” Tony retorted.

Peter sat up and covered his mouth. “You’re adorable!” He exclaimed.

“Get out of here.” Tony grumbled, returning to his task. “What’s the big headline? I wear sunglasses all the time.”

“Yeah, sunglasses,” Peter said. “But these are like…” He bugged his eyes and curled his hands into frames as he tried to articulate the significance of Tony’s new eyewear.

Tony put up a finger in warning. “There is no acceptable ending to that thought, so just quit now.”

Peter slipped his feet to the floor. “Can I try them on?” Tony looked at him as he stood and walked over. “Please?”

“Can’t I have anything that’s just mine?” Despite his grousing, Tony removed the glasses and held them out to Peter. DUM-E tried to take them but Tony fended him off with an elbow.

Peter snorted softly. “Yeah, you’re the picture of disadvantage.” He unfolded the arms of Tony’s glasses. “I’m just curious. I haven’t worn glasses since the spider bite.”

“I forgot you were a four-eyed spiderling once.”

“It was before that, I just said—“ Peter set the glasses on his nose. He immediately erupted: “Holy shit!” He pulled them off as though they were on a spring. “Can you even see in these?”

Tony stood and snatched them back. The jab at their first meeting did not escape him. Peter laughed at his indignant glare. DUM-E seemed slightly distressed by the activity, much like an old dog when kids play too roughly. Tony sniffed as he replaced the glasses on his nose, “When did you become such a little shit?”

“Bad influence, I guess.” Peter said through a crooked grin.

That made Tony chuckle. “Got me there.” He picked up his tiny scrubbing brush again. The workshop was warmly quiet. Tony felt that Peter hadn’t moved away; he was standing close to the stool, looking at him. Tony met his gentle gaze and wondered what he was thinking. “What’s up, bud?”

Peter shook his head. The shrug of his shoulders was nearly undetectable. “Nothing. You know, I realized the other day,” he paused, then said, “I’ve known you longer now than I knew Ben.”

Weight settled on Tony’s chest. The joints around his jaw sunk. He didn’t know how to respond. Peter had not talked about Ben even a handful of times since they met. He removed his glasses again; suddenly he wondered if Ben wore glasses. The only picture he’d seen was shrouded in his memory. Is that why the kid was looking at him like this?

Peter derailed. “I mean, I blipped, but, in _calendar years_ , you know.” Tony blinked; he used his breath like a steadying hand. “I guess it’s more accurate to say that you’ve known me longer than he knew me.”

Peter’s gaze softened, looking at nothing.

Tony began to speak, his tongue making an involuntary click. “I’m sorry, kiddo.”

A little surprised, Peter got back on track. “No, I— I didn’t mean anything… I was just thinking, eventually, I will have known you longer in my actual memory, too. I’m not upset about it. I--” He scanned the floor for words. “I’m _thankful_ that you’ve been here,” he stammered unsurely, “with me.”

“Of course, Pete.” Tony said. “Seen the alternative. Not interested.”

Peter shifted. It seemed he had more to say. “I never told you this, but, I think Ben would have really liked you. May’s still on the fence, but…” They both grinned and Tony even laughed a little. “I think Ben would have come around a bit faster. I think...” Peter searched for the words again. “He’d been thankful, too.”

Tony stifled a surge of emotion. Once his jaw was not quite so swollen, he snickered. “You sleepy is worse than Rhodey drunk.” He dragged his thumb across his brow, looking at Peter light-heartedly. “I hope you know that.”

Maybe that was a mistake because Peter’s expression deflated. He touched his left shoulder to his ear. Shit. There’s the embarrassment tic, Tony thought. He had all of Peter’s tics catalogued -- from the excited anxious tics, to the lost-in-his-work anxious tics, to the embarrassed anxious tics. That one was embarrassment for sure.

“Hey, Tony,” Peter said.

“What’s wrong, Pete?”

“I was thinking about the last time I was here, and…” Peter swallowed. Tony tried to wave him off, but Peter persisted. “I realized that you told me you loved me at least three times and I didn’t say anything back.”

“Oh, kid,” Tony said with a scoff, “it’s alright.”

“I love you, too, Tony.”

Peter smiled and Tony saw him again— his kid, unburdened, vibrant, and open, if just for the moment. But that held the worth of entire world for Tony right then. He huffed a little then stood.

“What are y’doing to me, kid?” He demanded and pulled Peter into his arms. “Go easy on me, huh? I’m old and vulnerable.” This time Peter returned the hug, wrapping arms around him tightly, leaning into him freely. Peter rested his head against Tony’s and sighed. Without being able to see, Tony knew that Peter’s eyes were closed, soaking up the feeling of comfort that he’d been trying to give the kid for months now. Finally, some peace; he deserved it.

The break was reset; it was time to let it heal, and Tony held onto him like a cast.

“Get some sleep, huh?” Tony said as he felt Peter beginning to drift off.

Peter yawned as if Tony had spoken the magic word. He pulled away and Tony returned to the stool at his work table. Instead of trudging back up the stairs, however, Peter dropped knees-first back onto the couch, gathering the blankets again. Tony reprimanded, with false irritation: “Sleep in a bed.”

“Comfy here.” Peter mumbled, snuggling down. He acted suddenly too tired to stand and find his way upstairs.

Tony wasn’t fooled, but let him stay. If Peter was comfortable here with him, what was wrong with letting the moment last a little longer?


End file.
